


Be My Superman

by MaggieMaybe160



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Castiel (Supernatural) Can Hear Longing, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Date, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Demon Blood Addict Sam Winchester, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Domestic Dean Winchester, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Hurt Dean Winchester, Light Angst, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Sick Dean Winchester, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, post episode: s01e14 benders, two sided love triangle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 22:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18558844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaggieMaybe160/pseuds/MaggieMaybe160
Summary: Steve is a total dork. Cute, but completely off limits and not at all Dean’s type. He either forgets to take off his work vest, or just doesn’t care. He’s constantly wearing that royal blue polyester vest that could blind anyone if the sun hit it right. His nametag is always pinned just perfectly over his chest, declaring him “Steve.” His dark brown hair is combed, parted on the side, and gelled in place. His eyes are the most stunning part of him. They’re a gorgeous blue that shine and Dean tries not to look for too long because he’s also pretty sure Steve is straight.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nickelkeep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelkeep/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Nickel!
> 
> Thanks to [blueeyesandpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueeyesandpie) and [jemariel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemariel)for the alpha and beta reading!

Dean Winchester adjusts his face mask and goggles before starting to paint the hood of the stripped 1958 Chevy Impala. He had been so excited when this car had rolled into his shop’s parking lot. He was lucky enough to be asked to restore this beauty to her original glory. His own 1967 Impala is parked in his parking spot around back. 

The bell in the office chimes as his customer walks in. He knows who it is, continuing on the hood to finish the first coat. He takes off his goggles and mask, grabbing his cane and walking into the office.

“Hey, Steve,” Dean greets. 

“Hello, Dean,” Steve grins. He’s holding two slushies. Both are a mix of blue and red. Steve hands Dean one as they sit on the bench in the front office. “Can I see her?” 

“Not yet. She’s getting her makeover right now,” Dean says before taking a sip of the frosty drink. 

“Thanks again,” Steve says, blue eyes wide with sincerity, “for the discount on the paint, I mean.”

“Don’t mention it. I had it leftover from when I painted my Baby.” They’re both quiet for a moment as they drink their identical slushies. 

Steve is a total dork. Cute, but completely off limits and not at all Dean’s type. He either forgets to take off his work vest, or just doesn’t care. He’s constantly wearing that royal blue polyester vest that could blind anyone if the sun hit it right. His nametag is always pinned just perfectly over his chest, declaring him “Steve.” His dark brown hair is combed, parted on the side, and gelled in place. His eyes are the most stunning part of him. They’re a gorgeous blue that shine and Dean tries not to look for too long because he’s also pretty sure Steve is straight. 

“I love working on your car. I get to see the differences a decade makes in manufacturing,” Dean says. “The original has its own level of perfection. You know? I mean, we’re looking at the difference between the first generation and tail end of the fourth generation.” 

Steve nods, encouraging Dean to keep talking, gushing about his trade. Dean’s passion about these cars was the sole reason Steve was even getting the car restored. He had come in asking if it was worth it to try. Dean had taken one look at the beat up car and decided that he had to restore her. That was a few months ago. Every week or so Steve would take her home and try to get enough money for the next part of the repair job. All of his savings from the Gas-n-Sip where he worked went into his car. 

Seeing Steve’s dedication, and also feeling like Steve letting him restore the car was a little bit of a favor to him, Dean found every discount he could give. He had a soft spot. Steve was just so innocent and nice. 

Innocent. That was the other thing that was keeping Dean from letting himself fall for this guy. He couldn’t drag such a genuine and soft soul into his life. He wasn’t always some mechanic with a bad heart and a bum leg. He wasn’t always just your neighborhood car enthusiast. 

Once upon a time, Dean had been a hunter. Not a hunter of deer or bears. He never killed anything that couldn’t fight back. Never Bambi or Yogi. That would be cruel. He was raised hunting everything that went bump in the night. Every monster, ghost, and nightmare was his prey since the time he was four. 

He lost his fight when he was twenty-six. He lost two fights in a row. The first was his fault. At thirty, he could admit it. He had been the only one in a position to stop the ugly thing from hurting his baby brother and the two kids. He took his shot with the taser while he was lying in a puddle and ended up supercharging his heart. He wasn’t supposed to live past a few months. 

After making it out of the hospital with his fancy new portable oxygen, baby brother Sam had tried to talk Dean out of hunting again. He said it was too soon, but was a month too soon? A month had been both too soon and way too long for Dean. He had jumped back in ready to jump on the missing persons case that Sam had found. It was on that hunt that his brother was kidnapped by humans and Dean was shot on the rescue mission. He was shot three times in his left leg. Once in the knee cap and twice in his thigh. 

The hospital visit for that loss was the end. It was where Sam had left him. 

Dean had just gotten out of surgery, his leg immobilized, mind bleary from the medication, when Sam had told him that his fight as a hunter was over. He couldn’t keep going. Not like this. The doctors told him that he would walk again. He had to follow the physical therapy regimen. He had to take his medicine and do his exercises. 

“I’ll get better then we can go back to fighting,” Dean had suggested. 

“I’ll find mom’s killer. I’ll find them and kill them. I have to, Dean.” Sam had given him that look and left. He hadn’t seen him since. 

He followed the orders. He stretched and pedaled on the stupid stationary bike with his nasal cannula on, filling his useless heart with oxygen. He’d done it all in Illinois. When he realized that his brother wasn’t coming back for him, he moved out of the motel and into the crappy one bedroom that he now calls home. 

“Oh, man,” Steve says, clearly disappointed. Dean’s eyes go to the clock on the wall confirming that Steve has to leave before he says it. “I gotta get back to work. Can I come by later?”

“I’ll finish her paint job today. Stop by tomorrow?” Dean asks. 

“Sure. Thanks, Dean.”

“Thanks for the slushie.”   
Steve grins and gets up to leave. When he gets to the bus stop he waves at Dean with that big dorky grin. 

Dean waits for him to be gone before letting out a cough and making his way to his desk. He spills his Aspirin into his hand and takes a few before pulling out his oxygen tank and threading the cannula over his ears. He’s fine with Steve seeing him with the bum leg. There’s no hiding that. He doesn’t want to look like the pity party he is with a heart made of paper, waiting to fail. 

Dean walks back into the garage and leans his cane against the wall before grabbing the paint and resuming his work. 


	2. Chapter 2

The paint job is finished on the 1958 beauty. Her original colors of Onyx Black and Arctic White is officially back, gleaming like she’s brand new. Dean sits behind his desk, cannula in place as he breathes. His heart has been getting worse. He is well past his expiration date, and he gets winded just walking, heart racing and threatening to burst just doing simple tasks like vacuuming his living room.

He leans back in his chair, enjoying the sun that’s streaming down through his window. He turns his head to the side and sees Steve getting off the bus. Dean hurries to take off the cannula and shove the oxygen under the desk and into hiding. Dean sits up straight again just in time for Steve to walk in the door.

“One mixed slushie,” Steve says, handing Dean his drink. Dean raises it in a silent cheers before taking a sip.

“Ready to take her home today?” Dean asks as Steve takes out his wallet to fish for his credit card.

“You know I am,” Steve grins and hands over the plastic. “When are you ever going to go on a vacation or do something for yourself? I see you in here all day every day. Don’t you have any hobbies?”  
  
“Cars are my hobby.” Dean types in the discounts on the paint and swipes the card.

“Besides cars. What did you do before this?”

Dean shrugs and keeps his eyes on the screen to avoid being read and found out. His life before the shop was hunting and that wasn't a hobby. That was just life. It did make him happy, though. It was a thrill. It was a mission.

“Do you like movies?”  
  
“Of course I like movies,” Dean scoffs, grinning. He hands back the credit card and turns around to grab the keys to the ‘58.

“We should go sometime,” Steve offers.

A date? Dean clears his throat and tries to think of a way to let him down. Steve was a new friend maybe. And apparently he wasn’t straight. Dean turns around and hands Steve the keys.

“Uh, I’m not exactly in the right place to be dating anyone…” Dean says, running a hand through his hair as he gives an apologetic smile.

“Oh! No! I didn’t mean… I meant as friends. I’m sorry,” Steve quickly corrects, his entire face turning a fantastic shade of embarrassed. “I don’t have many friends and I-”  
  
“Sure,” Dean cuts him off before Steve stumbles into mortifying himself further. “Sounds great.” He shifts in his seat and takes a sip of his drink.

“Tonight?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Dean nods.

“Need my address?”

Dean pulls out his phone and hands the blank “create a contact” screen over to Steve. He glances out the window as a car drives by and back to his new friend just before he’s handed his phone back. Dean nods and presses the save button before pocketing the phone again.

“Cool. I’ll see you at seven.” Dean watches his new quirky friend leave, getting into his almost completely finished car and driving off.

At a quarter to seven Dean drives to Steve’s house and pushes open the door for him. In all of his dorkiness, he gets into the car wearing his work vest and a white button up shirt, buttoned to the top. Dean sighs.

“Really?”  
  
“What?” Steve looks down at himself and back up at Dean.

“We’re friends hanging out and you wear your freaking work vest and name tag?” Dean waits for Steve to get it by himself, but he looks just as confused as before. “No. Lose the vest.”

Steve shrugs out of his vest and holds it awkwardly in front of himself. Dean takes it and chucks it into the backseat, making a mental note not to forget it there when he brings Steve back. He looks over at Steve again and thinks about telling him to undo the top button. Relax a little. Let loose. Shake out that dorky hair into something wild and messy and fun. But that would be changing him.

Dean nods and puts the car in drive, taking them to dinner and a drive-in movie. Once they’re parked, Steve picks up the bag of their carry-out order of burgers and fries. He hands Dean his burger and they both dig in.

On the big screen is the original Superman movie. As the opening credits flash by in bright blue, Dean reaches into the bag between them for some fries.

“You never answered my question earlier,” Steve says after swallowing his bite of burger. Dean looks over at him. He doesn’t want to answer. He can’t answer honestly. “What did you do for fun?”

Dean sighs and leans his head back on the seat, thinking. “I used to roadtrip with my baby brother.” He smiles sadly, thinking about the last time he saw Sam. A part of him wishes he knew where Sam wound up, but another part whispers that he’s better off not knowing. “We would go… hiking.”

“That sounds fun. Why don’t you still do either of those things?”

Why didn’t he still hunt? Sam was gone. At the time, finding their dad had been important, but Dean had grown out of that. He had mourned the loss whether or not he had needed to and moved on, but Sam… Sam had been his responsibility from the time he was four. Sam had been the kid he had raised. Sam had been the one who walked away. Dean had driven for miles with a full leg brace and oxygen tank searching high and low for his baby brother and only settled in Illinois when he ran out of oxygen and had to stop.

He’d given up when he’d reached Illinois, sick and injured and abandoned. He’d given up on hunting and long road trips. His heart couldn’t take it anymore and if he wanted to live long enough to maybe see his brother again, he had to stop and try to live a life without the hunting or the brother.   
  
“I don’t know. Can’t hike with a bum leg,” Dean lies, lowering his eyes to the food bag again so he won’t be caught.

“There are some trails near here that you could probably do,” Steve suggests. Dean nods, thinking about finding an easy enough case that he could hunt in his condition.

“What about you? What do you do besides deliver slushies to mechanics?”

“I play basketball,” Steve says and Dean’s head snaps up. Steve does not look like the kind of guy who plays basketball.

“What?”

“I mean, I throw stirring sticks and balled up receipts into the trash from the cash register at work and I make almost every shot.”

Dean tries not to laugh, smiling while pressing his lips together to try to stifle it. That’s more like the kind of thing he would expect from Steve.

“So I’m supposed to have an out-of-work hobby but you don’t?” Dean asks after a moment.

“I watch porn?” Steve says bluntly and innocently. Dean chokes on his drink and coughs. “No, I volunteer trash pickup at a church nearby. I like to help out there since they let me stay there when I didn’t have a home yet.”  
  
“Oh.” Dean clears his throat the rest of the way from nearly choking on his soda and looks back at Steve. “I’m sorry…”

“It was... difficult, but I figured it out.” It feels like Steve is leaving something out, but Dean doesn’t want to press the issue. It was a big enough deal that he told him he had been homeless at all. “I think you should give hiking another go,” Steve says quietly. There’s a strange emphasis on the word hiking, but Dean must have imagined it: guilt from lying to his new friend maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean sits in the waiting room at his doctor’s office. While he waits for his name to be called, he looks through a newspaper for any sign of a hunt. Steve had been right. There are hunts that could possibly be easy enough for him to do. He just has to try.

“Dean Winchester.”

Dean folds the newspaper and grabs his cane and oxygen tank, making his way slowly to the door and stopping by the scale. After his weight is taken (175 pounds as always) he’s led to the exam room. He sits on the paper covered table.

“Open,” the nurse says, holding the thermometer.

“Kelly, you flirt.” Dean winks and opens his mouth. She rolls her eyes, though her cheeks are pink. They do this every time. He holds the thermometer under his tongue while she traps the blood pressure cuff on his bicep and turns on the machine.

“98.6. Perfect, as always,” she smiles and discards the plastic cover before glancing at the blood pressure machine. She frowns at his numbers like she always does and uncuffs his arm.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re too pretty for that frown.”  
  
“Now who’s flirting?” She shakes her head at him and heads to the door. “Doctor will be in in a minute.”

With his wait time, Dean unfolds the paper again. The doctor is always running late and he wants to find a case. For the first time in four years, Dean wants to hunt. Thanks, Steve.

Dean leaves the hospital after his appointment. He had kept to himself how much worse he felt his heart was doing. He didn’t want to waste time getting an echo. He knew what it would say. He had a few months to live. Miraculously he always had a few months to live.

He had found a hunt in the newspaper. It looked like a fairly easy salt-and-burn ghost case. He just has to talk to the family, find the grave, and light it up. The only problem he sees is digging the grave up with his heart promising to let him drop dead any minute. He will figure it out.

Dean walks into his home and sits on the couch, slouching into the plush cushions. The shop is closed today for his one day off a week, but he’s extending his leave for his first vacation in four years. He picks up his cell phone and scrolls through his small list of contacts. He doesn’t hesitate over Sam’s number anymore. That number was disconnected a long time ago. No, today, he hesitates over Steve’s.

Are they friends? They did hang out. They talked. He was a goofy guy. He liked him. Accidental friendship. Should he tell him he’s going to take his advice and go out _hiking_ this weekend? He spins the phone in his hand and closes the contact list again, dropping the phone onto the couch.

Dean pushes up off of the couch and limps over to the bookshelf in the living room. He turns on the old stereo that only has slots for his tapes, old enough that it had never been on the same shelf as a CD or CD player. He presses the play button and Metallica blasts. He smiles before moving his eyes up the bookshelf.

He may have stopped physically hunting, but he hadn’t been able to break free completely. Out of fear for Sammy, maybe… Out of longing for the fight… Out of hope that he might go hunting again… His bookshelf is filled with his studying of all creatures. The kind of studying he’d never had time for on the road. The king of studying that Sam would be proud of and Dad would be see as a waste of time.

Dean reaches up and pulls down the file on ghosts even though ghosts are as simple as monsters get. He goes back to the couch and opens the file, getting himself psyched up to go out on his first hunt in four years. He grins under his cannula as he flips through his carefully researched pages of information.

After his research and lunch at home, Dean packs up the Impala, ready to drive not so far out of town and begin his “investigation.” He closes the trunk and checks his phone again, thinking again about texting Steve to tell him. As he closes out of the contacts list for the third time, his phone buzzes in his hand.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Dean.” There’s a hesitation before he says, “This is Steve.”

“I know it’s you,” Dean laughs and shakes his head. “What’s up, buddy?”

“Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“Actually, yeah.” Dean drags a hand through his hair and looks at the car in front of him. The years of hunting he had done in this car wash over him and make him smile. “I’m taking your advice and going to take a stab at hu-” Dean coughs to cut himself off, “hiking.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just breathed in some dust. Found a trail nearby that looks easy enough.”

“That’s great.” The tone sounds like a bitter excitement. Dean can’t tell if he’s actually happy or if he’s about to tell him not to go. He waits, giving Steve a chance to rescind his previous advice and warn Dean against going.

“Maybe we can do something this week when I get back,” Dean says.

“Of course, Dean. Have a good time, _hiking_.” There’s that damn emphasis again. What the hell?

“Yep. Bye.” Dean hangs up and gets into the Impala.  


* * * * *  


There comes a point when you have to admit you were wrong. That moment for Dean is now. A chill runs down his spine as he stares at the empty and abandoned farmland that he’s standing on. The thing is, it hadn’t been abandoned when he’d driven by during the day. It hadn’t even been a farm. It had been a small church with a cemetary. Now, the one building in sight was a run down and empty barn. There weren’t even any graves popping up out of the overgrown grass that had been perfectly manicured earlier. Yeah, something is definitely wrong.

Earlier, when Dean had been asking the family questions, he had talked to the grieving father. He had been forthcoming, though confused some of the questions like: “where is she buried?”

“Why? What does that have anything to do with…?”  
  
“Just have to be thorough, sir.”

He had driven to the cemetery and found the grave, posing as a mourning family member with some flowers and everything. He had been at a church with a graveyard and had stood at the grave. The question was: where were those three things now?

Dean starts to walk back to his car as his heart starts to pound. Everything is off about this. He swallows hard, trying to gulp in the air his failing heart needs as he goes.

“Now, where are you going, Dean?”

Dean swivels around to face the man who had been sobbing over his daughter earlier. He had given him the address and all of the information he needed. He also hadn't been here a moment ago. His eyes are wide and amused. His smile is gut-twisting.

“You still need to finish your first case back on the job, right?”

“Who the hell are you?” Dean asks, trying to sound bigger than he feels as he pants.

“I’m a friend of Sam’s,” the man says, taking slow steps toward him.  
  
“Look, pal. I ain’t buyin’ what you’re sellin’.” Dean takes a few steps back to keep the original distance. He grabs his gun and aims it at the man. “Stop moving.”

The man only grins and Dean squeezes the trigger, watching a bullet rip into his chest. He doesn’t stop walking or talking. Dean fires again.

“Humans are so predictable,” the man says as another bullet tears through him. “This was a new suit.”

Dean doesn’t know what to do, but he can’t breathe and, he would never admit it, scared. The fear that floods him stems from his heart rate that is nowhere near okay. He had wanted to go down fighting, not from heart failure.

“Zachariah, I told you never to come here,” a familiar voice says behind Dean. It’s deep and even and powerful. “Dean, go.”

Suddenly, he feels a strong pull. It’s all encompassing and Dean doesn’t know where it’s coming from or what it is. He turns around to look into the face of the most strikingly handsome man he has ever seen. His raven hair is unruly, windswept and wild. The same color dusts his jaw and upper lip with stubble. His eyes. They’re intense blue and it melts Dean to his core.  
  
“Dean,” the man says his name like he knows him. Dean wants to know him in every sense of the word.

He doesn’t notice that he’s stopped breathing, his heart racing too quickly to allow him to drag air into his body. He does notice that the edges of his vision are going black and blurry. His chest hurts. His vision swims and his knees buckle.

The man catches Dean, worry filling the deep blue eyes.

“Castiel, step aside,” so-called Zachariah demands. “You know that we need him. He’s the last piece. Sam’s already going to say yes.”

“I vowed to protect him. He doesn’t hunt anymore.” Castiel says, his arms still holding Dean tightly.

“He doesn’t need to hunt. He needs to say yes to his future.” Zachariah’s eyes move from Castiel and land on Dean once more. “He’s broken.” The words sound like a threat as Dean’s head falls back.

A bright light fills the sky as Dean’s struggles to keep his eyes open. He can’t hear anything over the pounding of his heart. It’s too fast. It’s too fast. It’s too fast. Dean feels a hand on his jaw, gentle and soft, as he fades into the darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean gasps, jolting awake. His face is very close to Castiel’s and his face is immediately filled with a blush that is probably so bright he’s sure the other man can see it through the dark. 

After the shock of waking up in the arms of the most beautiful man he’s ever seen wears off, Dean notices that the pain in his chest is gone. The fatigue is gone. The constant dull ache in his leg is missing. 

Castiel lets go of Dean and takes a step back. Dean pats himself down, wondering how he’s still upright. He was dying. He was out of heartbeats. He...

“What?” Dean presses his hand to his chest to feel the steady and strong beats of a healthy heart as he stares at Castiel. “Who are you?” Everything about the other man is magnetic. Dean swallows hard stares into the familiar deep blue. 

“I’m Castiel.” 

_ “I’m Steve.” _

Dean takes a step forward, shaking his head in disbelief. He knows those eyes and that voice. The wild hair is usually combed and parted, patted down and perfectly under control. The uniform polyester vest is replaced by the billowing trench coat that he wears now. He looks just the same but completely different. 

Dean’s stomach flips, knowing that either this name or the name Steve is a lie. He can’t argue that point right now. 

“What happened?” Dean asks. He thinks he knows, but there’s no way. 

“I healed you.” 

“What are you?” His voice is barely over a whisper. Betrayal is starting to make its way through Dean’s veins as he stares and waits for the answer. Like the name, there is no right answer. Steve is a human. Castiel is-

“I’m an angel of the lord.” 

An angel. 

“Bullshit. There’s no such thing,” Dean says. It feels like a dare in his mouth. 

Castiel rolls his shoulders and unfurls two massive wings. They’re jet black shadows. There’s no way they’re physical. It’s too much. Dean opens his mouth to answer but nothing comes out. 

“Dean, it’s still me,” Castiel says. His voice is pleading as Dean looks him up and down seeing the stranger he is. Castiel reaches his hand out toward him and his hand makes it halfway to Dean’s before the hunter flinches away. “Dean?”

He only shakes his head and turns around, walking back to the Impala. He’s both grateful and disappointed that Castiel doesn’t try to follow him. He sits back in his seat for a moment, trying not to look over at the  _ angel _ standing in the middle of the field alone. Instead, he looks down onto the seat beside him at his oxygen tank that he doesn’t need. 

Dean puts the keys in the ignition and clenches his jaw. He looks in the mirror as he drives away, watching Castiel’s shoulders slump and his wings fold out of sight. His stomach twists, telling him to go back to him, but he keeps driving. 

He doesn’t know where to go. If he goes home, he’s going back to the life he only adopted because he had no other choice. His home is the house of a dying man with a supernatural obsession. Medications and oxygen tanks, leg braces and ice machines all piled into their cupboards and cabinets. Shelves upon shelves of research because he couldn’t actually hunt. A home with luxuries he never would have let himself have if he were still a hunter. If he goes home, he’ll end up going to work. He’ll go back to his mechanic shop. But how can he go back? How can he go back when his favorite customer and only friend isn’t just some gas station geek who wears his uniform everywhere and brings him slushies every day that he’s working on the ‘58 that belongs to Steve? Castiel. How can he go back? How could he go back to hunting, though? How could he sell his mechanic shop and risk never seeing Castiel again? How could he sell his home and leave it behind so he can go back to living in motel rooms and eating out of vending machines? And never seeing Castiel again? Never working on the ‘58 again? Never having a friend again? 

Steve was Dean’s friend. Steve was human and nerdy and nothing that Dean wanted. Castiel was Dean’s savior and protector. Apparently. Castiel was hot and powerful and nothing he was allowed to have. Was Steve a lie, though? Could Dean let himself feel the instant and intense connection to Castiel if Steve was somehow part of this? If Steve was just a name on a tag. 

When Dean pulls into his driveway, he tries to ignore the subconscious decision he made and parks in the garage. He walks into his house on two working legs and goes straight to his bed. He doesn’t bother changing, kicking his shoes off the edge of the bed and turning over to shove his face into the pillows. He feels restless and exhausted. He turns over and looks at the ceiling throwing his arms wide on either side of him and gripping the blankets in his fists. Nothing is sitting right and the silence of his house isn’t helping. Dean heaves a sigh and grabs his pillow, dropping it onto his face and groaning, his hands pressed to the other side of the pillow. He doesn’t mean to start crying and is barely aware of it as he drifts to sleep, tears staining the pillow on his face.

_ Dean is screaming, agony filling him as his limbs are stretched away from his body with meat hooks. A whip digs into the flesh on his back and he bites down on the scream, choking. The bones in his arms start to break.  _

_ “Somebody, help me!” Dean screams.  _

_ Lightning flashes and all Dean can see are two black wings. As he sees them, Hell melts away and he’s laying on the ground of a field. He’s still bleeding and broken, but when he opens his eyes again, he’s looking into Castiel’s eyes.  _

_ “Hello, Dean,” Castiel says with a sad smile. He runs a hand gently down the side of Dean’s face. The bones mend and the pain recedes, leaving Dean, healed and healthy, in the arms of Castiel.  _

_ “Cas,” Dean breathes.  _

_ The angel lowers his face, his lips grazing Dean’s gently in question. Dean kisses him back, his arms winding around him. He can feel Castiel’s hand moving down the side of his body, tracing every curve and line of him. He opens Castiel’s mouth with his and runs his tongue along the angel’s bottom lip. Cas’ hand finds its way to the front of Dean’s jeans- _

Dean sits bolt upright, panting. Shit. He runs a hand over his face and feels the heat under his fingertips. He has it bad. 

The pillow that had been over his face is now on the floor. He gets off the bed and picks it up, tossing it back into its place at the head of the bed and starts to get ready for work. He washes his dream off in the shower, trying to scrub it away with soap. 

Dean makes it to his shop and turns on the lights and flips over the closed sign before booting up the office computer. He glances at his list of jobs and grabs the keys to a dent and scratch repair and goes to work. 

At lunch, Dean is back in the main office, notifying the parents of the last two cars that they’re ready for pickup when the bell over the door rings. He glances over and sees Steve. He’s carrying two slushies and an apologetic smile. 

“Hello, Dean.” He sets Dean’s slushie on the counter and Dean looks away from it, his eyes settling on the lie of a name tag on the vest, in place once again. 

“Nice name tag,” Dean says, finally looking up to meet Steve’s eyes. 

“We need to talk, Dean.”

“I’m working,” Dean deflects, turning back to the computer, trying to find a task. 

“I’m still me,” Steve pleads. 

“Yeah, and who is that? Steve or Castiel?” Dean snaps, looking back at Cas. The anger in his voice doesn’t match his own pleading eyes. 

“I’m Castiel. I made up Steve to fit in here. Dean, please. I never meant to hurt you. I’m here to keep you safe.” 

“I have a guardian angel. Funny.” Dean huffs a humorless laugh. “Why would an angel want to save me?” 

“What’s the matter?” Cas tilts his head to the side, his eyes searching Dean. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

“Why’d you do it?” Dean asks, swallowing.

“I...I’m trying to protect you from them.” 

“I don’t mean why did you save me.” Dean gives a frustrated sigh and gets up from his seat behind the desk, ready to retreat back to the cars that still need repairs. “Why did you lie?” Dean doesn’t bother waiting for an answer. He goes into the employee-only zone and turns on the stereo to drown out any and all thoughts while he works.


	5. Chapter 5

“Why did you lie?” The look on Dean’s face as he asked was enough to silence Castiel even if he did have an answer. There was no reason why he should have lied to Dean. Steve was a character to play to fit in as a human among the innocent people, not to hide from Dean Winchester. 

The longer he had hidden from Dean, the more reasonable it had started to feel. If he told him that he was a human, he had a better chance at staying put and not trying to hunt. He had a better chance of living a happy life, regardless of his ongoing health condition. 

When he had seen how much Dean missed it when Castiel had asked him what made him happy, he had to tell him to go and find that happiness again, against his better judgement. All he wants is to see Dean happy. In one fell swoop, Castiel took it all away. 

After watching Dean walk into the garage to start working, the music blasted, sending Castiel on his way. He left Dean’s slushie on the counter, unwilling to take it back. 

Today, Castiel decides to try again. He leaves the vest at home, hoping to see it help Dean accept him. He picks up a slushie for Dean and makes his way back to the shop. He steps off of the bus and sees that the windows are dark. The sign on the door says “Closed” and there is no 1967 Chevy Impala in its usual parking space. 

The parking lot of the waiting-to-be-repaired cars is empty. He finished his work and left. Castiel’s heart drops into his stomach as he walks around the building, making sure another angel didn’t try to come for him. It’s clean of angel magic, but it still doesn’t answer where Dean is. 

Castiel curls into a corner of the building to not be noticed when he travels to Dean’s house. He’s never actually been, despite the thousands of times he’s wanted to go. It always felt like an invasion of privacy after he found how Dean made him feel. How Dean broke through every one of Heaven’s orders and programming and made him feel as human as he had been pretending to be. Dean made him feel very human emotions, including love. 

Castiel knows before he even knocks that Dean isn’t here. He can feel the absence like a rock in his stomach. He doesn’t want to use his powers to locate Dean. He’s already betrayed his trust  too many times. That’s why he was here, alone on the front step of Dean Winchester’s home. 

Castiel sits, leaning his back against the door with the slushie melting between his feet on the ground. He runs his hands through his hair before letting his head fall back against the wood. 

He’s lost Dean. 

Worry eats away at Castiel as he waits for Dean to return home or call his phone or pray to him or long for him so deeply that it runs through Castiel’s veins… Without Castiel there to keep the other angels at bay, what will happen to Dean? He isn’t safe. He could say no all he wanted, but would he if he were tricked? Would he continue to say no if seeing his brother again was dangled in front of him? Would the angels torture him until he said yes? Castiel’s hands tighten into fists and he closes his eyes. 

The longing that he had been wishing for floods him and his eyes snap open. The feeling of Dean’s longing makes his heart pound and his breath hitch. He doesn’t mean to, but his mind immediately searches for his human. 

He can see Dean, driving in his sleek black ‘67 racing down an empty road. The music is off, which is unusual for Dean. One hand on the steering wheel, the other is resting on the edge of the open window. Resting is the wrong word for it. His hand clenches into a fist before he flexes all of his fingers straight. He hits the rim of the steering wheel with his open palm and curses. 

Castiel blinks and is back on the front porch with a liquid slushie in his hands. He stands up and looks back at the door once before walking away. 

The mission Castiel had been given four years ago was to protect Dean Winchester until Michael needed him as his vessel. The time wasn’t right, yet. So Castiel had gone to Earth and planned to keep watch over the beaten and bruised hunter, his leg mangled and heart crushed. He had his orders. Protect him in his fragile state and keep him safe from himself and any demons that could jeopardize the future. 

So Castiel had watched the humans around him as he tried to figure out how to fit in so he could get closer to his ward. He watched the homeless among him struggle with their very human hunger, thirst, and cold. They were all suffering so he helped where he could. After leaving, he returned often to continue to help them. They prayed often and he seemed to be the only one listening. 

When Dean had opened a mechanic shop, Castiel had been confused. Here, he thought he was following some hunter who would not be deterred. He thought he was going to have to physically keep Dean from returning to hunting or searching for his brother. The shop popped up and he watched as the Winchester fixed cars day in and day out. He left barely any time for himself. 

Dean was striking in appearance. He was strong, with muscles that rippled beneath his skin as he lifted the heavy auto parts. His green eyes were always shadowed with the grief of missing his old life, but shone every so often with hope that was never obvious. Dean wiping his blackened hands on his jeans was attractive and there was no reason why looking at him made Castiel long to be closer. 

There was a bond between them that was beyond an angel and a human. It was a tether that kept him bound to Dean. The longer they were on Earth together, the stronger the pull. As long as Dean Winchester was close to him, he could breathe. 

Castiel had yearned to get closer, so he found a car that was beat up and old. He was rewarded with Dean’s face lighting up when he showed him the out of date vehicle. His eyes were bright and he spoke excitedly for the first time in ages. 

The first time Castiel went to visit Dean for lunch, he didn’t know what compelled him to do it. He had been at work and the need to be close to Dean, to see Dean, to be in the same room as Dean forced him to pour a slushie and go as quickly as he could to the shop. Dean had given him a strange look as he accepted the drink and took a tentative sip. 

“Ya know, these things are amazing if you mix the flavors together. My brother used to hate when I did that, but that’s the only way to do it, man.” 

So from then on, Castiel mixed the flavors together and brought them to Dean every single day. Every day he took the bus and stepped onto the sidewalk right outside of Dean’s shop. Sometimes he would see Dean sitting in the window, typing on the computer or writing something in a ledger. Other times, music would be booming from the garage as he worked. Either way, his presence lightened Castiel’s heart. 

That was then. That was before Castiel’s lie had been caught. Before Dean had looked into his eyes and seen both Castiel and Steve and rejected him. Now, Dean was alone and vulnerable and going after him would only make matters worse. 

Castiel stands behind his counter at work the next day. The store is clean and everything is stocked. The food is cooking, hot dogs rolling on their stand. After cleaning the men’s room earlier, Castiel caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. 

_ “Nice name tag.”  _

The bell that alerts when new customers enter goes off and Castiel looks up from organizing his workspace. Dean. He freezes before slowly standing upright and watching Dean walk straight to the slushie machine like he hadn’t noticed Castiel behind the counter. He checks the clock on the wall. It’s twelve: the time that Steve usually goes to bring Dean a slushie. 

Castiel watches Dean pour two slushies, mixing the red and the blue together with a strangely practiced reckless abandon. He spills some of the blue raspberry on his hand and licks it off before grabbing two straws and putting them into the drinks. 

“Two slushies,” Castiel says, typing it into the computer instead of scanning them. “Can I get you anything else?” He looks up from the computer into Dean’s green eyes and tries not to choke on his heart. 

“Maybe,” Dean says, pulling out his wallet to pay. “Someone to take the other slushie?” Dean pushes one of the slushies over the counter toward him. This time Castiel does choke. 

“I’m off in five minutes,” Castiel manages. Dean smiles a million dollar smile and winks, grabbing both drinks and going outside to his car. He watches Dean go, his eyes stuck on his legs as he walks. He tears his eyes away when Dean turns his head to look over his shoulder at him. Dean’s cheeks turn pink which makes the green stand out just that much more. 

As soon as Castiel is relieved for his break, he beelines to the bathroom, ditching the vest and running his hands through his hair to make it look more like himself and less like his character, Steve.


	6. Chapter 6

Cas walks out of the Gas-n-Sip with his hair just as wild and messy as the other night when he saved Dean. His vest is gone and all that remains is a white button up, the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. His eyes squint against the sunlight and his cheeks are just pink enough to make Dean’s breath catch.  

He holds out the slushie to Cas and tries not to audibly suck in his breath when their fingers brush. He looks away and down at his own drink. It had been dumb to try to do this as an apology. This entire idea was dumb. He needed to say sorry for running, but he needed one back for lying. He presses his lips together before sighing and taking a sip. 

“I am going to need a little bit of an explanation,” Dean finally says when the silence drags. Cas tilts his head and Dean looks down at his shoes. “Angel’s weren’t real. Now I’m friends with one. I’m protected by one? I somehow mean something to Heaven and angels and all that crap when I haven’t been a hunter for four fucking years. I was about to die, but I woke up…” He omits the part that he woke up in the arms of the angel who saved him and hadn’t slept a night without dreaming about him since. 

“We should talk alone,” Cas says, his eyes going to the car and back to Dean. Dean nods and walks around, getting into the driver’s side and settling behind the wheel. Cas sits in the passenger seat and closes the door carefully. He looks as though he’s thinking of what he has to say and in what order, so Dean starts the car, antsy to move. 

“I was sent to protect you from any demons or angels because both sides of this war want to claim you,” Cas says once they’re driving down the road. Dean looks over quickly and back to the road, not voicing any of the many questions in his head. “I was sent down immediately, even though the Devil’s gate wasn’t opened for another year. We are anticipating Lucifer’s release from Hell and at that point, he will need a vessel. So will his brother, Michael-”

“Vessel? Angels  _ possess, _ like demons?” Dean can’t help himself. “Was Steve your  _ vessel _ then?” He feels lied to all over again. Steve was supposed to be imaginary, not some poor bastard locked away with an angel riding shotgun. 

“No. My vessel’s name was Jimmy. He was a devout man. He actually prayed for this.” Cas looks down. “Jimmy is dead.” 

“You killed him?”

“No. I was wounded in a fight against another angel, Uriel, while protecting you. I wasn’t quick enough to heal him.” There’s remorse in his voice and Dean can’t find it in him to hold onto his anger or disgust. 

“And Lucifer? I thought he was just a story they told at demon Sunday school,” Dean says as he glances over. He wishes he hadn’t when he finds Cas staring at him intently. 

“Lucifer is real. He fell and was defeated, trapped in a cage in Hell for his wrongdoings and evil. Michael needs to be the one to do it again once he’s risen.”

“Why do you think he’s going to wake up and walk outta his box?” 

“The first of the 66 seals on his cage has been broken. And it is written, that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in Hell. As he breaks, so shall it break. They will be broken with Heaven there to assist Sam.”

“What?” Dean slams on the brakes and pulls the car to the side of the road. He turns in his seat to face Castiel, his world crashing down with the information. Angels being real? He could handle that. An angel and demon war taking place on his planet? Sure. Sam breaking Lucifer out of prison? Not so fine. “What the fuck do you mean, Heaven is helping Sam prison-break  _ Lucifer _ ?” 

“I was sent to help you prepare for the fight and get you to say yes to Michael. I failed that mission when I met you. Sam had an angel and a demon go to him to prepare him for Lucifer. They haven’t failed or f-” Cas cuts himself off and looks away. “They are helping him break the seals while I protect you to the best of my ability. I can’t let you say yes to Michael.”  
  
“Say yes? What do you mean, say yes? They need permission before wearing us to prom?” Dean pauses, panic surging through him as all of the information melts into him. “I can’t let him say yes to Lucifer! I was supposed to protect him!” 

“And I’m trying to protect you!” 

The words feel weighted in the silence that follows. Though, the silence doesn’t last long. Dean doesn’t know who moves first, but in the next moment they’re pressed together, lips crashing. Cas’ arms are around him, pulling him closer as his teeth graze Dean’s lip. Dean’s hand tangles into the thick, dark hair while his other runs down the angel’s side before gripping his hip. 

Dean pushes Cas against the seat as Castiel pulls him onto his lap. Dean’s legs straddle Cas as his tongue slips into his mouth. Dean’s heart beats against Castiel’s chest and his hand tightens in the angel’s hair. Their lips break apart, Dean’s shaky breath mixing with Cas’ between them as they stay closely wound, noses still touching and eyes locked. 

“I will always protect you,” Cas whispers, his hand moving to Dean’s face. He runs his thumb over the light stubble gently. “Which means saving him.”

“What are you going to do?” 

“I’ll come back to you, Dean Winchester.” 

Cas presses his lips to Dean’s again. This kiss isn’t feverish like the last. It’s gentle and promising. It’s also a goodbye. Cas gently removes Dean from on top of him and starts to move away from him on the bench-seat. 

“Wait.” Dean grabs the lapel of Castiel’s trench coat. “What are you going to do?” he asks again, pleading for an answer. 

“I’m going to save your brother and humanity for you.” He closes his eyes as if pained before looking back up at Dean. He presses his open palm to Dean’s chest, just over the fast beating heart. Pain sears through Dean’s ribs and he gasps. “Goodbye, Dean.” 

With the blink of an eye and the sound of wings pushing against the air, Cas is gone and Dean is alone in his car, breathless and worried. 

“Cas…”


	7. Chapter 7

Dean calls his doctor once he’s back home. The appointment he made after having his heart angelically healed had been scheduled for tomorrow, but curious and love-sick, he wanted to know what else Cas did to him. The new appointment is in an hour. Thank god for last minute cancellations. 

After calling the doctor, Dean looks at his phone, waiting for a phone call or a text from Cas. His thumb hovers over the recently changed contact name. Their kiss stains his lips. The promise of return holds him captive. The blue eyes pierce his mind. He closes his eyes and puts the phone back into his pocket. 

“What’s goin’ on, Dean?” Kelly asks when Dean checks in. 

“I need an x-ray, I think,” Dean answers. The pain hasn’t subsided and he wants to know what happened. Did Cas hurt him to make him stay?

“Where’s it hurt?” Her flirty smile is gone when Dean’s tone holds none of the usual jest or pep. Dean knows she’s used to seeing him dependent on a cane and oxygen tank, but she’s never seen him worried. And he forgot his cane. And oxygen tank. 

“My ribs. I think I might have broken one,” he lies. 

“Okay, let’s get you to radiology, sweetie. How’s your leg?” Damn. She noticed. 

“It feels…” He contemplates lying and telling her that he’s only going without it because it makes his ribs hurt more, but he needs to check on his leg too. “Better.”

“You don’t just get better from three gunshot wounds, Dean Winchester,” she scolds, thinking she’s caught his lie. “We’ll scan that, too.” 

“Fine.” 

Dean stares at the x-rays when they’re back. Kelly  left the room after pulling them up, leaving to go let his doctor know that Dean was waiting to go over the scans. Dean saves the x-ray pictures to a flash drive he brought with him and deletes them from his doctor’s computer, only leaving the scan of his leg. 

He waits until he’s at home to open the files of his ribs. They’re marked with strange symbols. Not just marked. They’re carved into his bones. He looks up the symbols and finds they’re wardings to keep him hidden from angels and demons alike. He’s essentially invisible with no way of being found until his bones regrow. 

Dean works and goes home every day, raking through angel lore to build up a new portfolio for his library. He started with Lucifer and Michael, trying to find anything that would help him understand why he and Sam were their targets. He got distracted when he found the name, Castiel. 

“Don’t,” he had warns himself aloud. “There’s having a crush and there’s stalking.” He runs his fingers over his once kissed lips and closes the information on his angel. If he wants to know about him, he can ask.  
  


Dean is on the edge of sleep, the promise of another dream of Castiel just beyond the curtain of consciousness, when there’s a loud flump in the living room. Dean sits up quickly, grabbing the blade from under his bed and walking out into the dark hallway. 

“Dean, don’t stab me,” Cas’ voice warns from beyond the hallway. 

“Cas,” Dean breathes out his relief and lowers the blade as he walks quicker. He flicks on the light and finds Cas holding onto an unconscious Sam. His hair is longer than when he last saw him. There’s traces of shaved away stubble that reminds Dean that this isn’t the twenty two year old he was abandoned by. “What’s wrong with him?” Dean asks, relieving Cas as he takes Sam into his arms and lowers him onto the couch. 

“He’s addicted to demon blood. I had to knock him out to get him here. We’re going to have to lock him away to detox from it.”

“Demon blood? He’s shooting up demon blood instead of heroin?” Dean looks down at his baby brother. 

“I’ve warded him like I did you. We need somewhere to lock him up to keep him safe. Do you have somewhere?” Cas’ tone is urgent. 

“I have the cellar…” Dean glances down toward the hidden stairs to his cellar. When he had moved in, he hadn’t been able to go down there, but once he had been well enough he had turned it into a shelter and arsenal. 

“I’ll have to put up wardings, but it could work.” 

Castiel carries Sam down into the cellar and handcuffs him to a pole while they work. Dean removes all of the weapons while Cas burns and carves wardings into the foundations of his home. 

“We’re going to need a few locked doors to keep him in. When he wakes he’ll be… angry.” 

“Putting that lightly, I assume?” Dean asks over his shoulder. Cas nods solemnly. 

It strikes Dean how normal it all feels. It feels like he’s been talking to Cas his entire life. It feels like a normal house renovation rather than an emergency supernatural detox den. It feels like forever, standing by Castiel. 

It’s daybreak when they finish. They have Sam strapped to a bed inside of a devil’s trap on the floor. The warding Cas put up muffles the noise Sam is bound to make so as not to cause a scene in Dean’s neighborhood while also keeping him safely locked away. At the base of the stairs that lead into the house is a freshly welded door with a series of locks, and the door at the top of the stairs has two extra locks added. 

Dean and Cas sit on the floor, backs against the wall, Dean’s head on his angel’s shoulder as they wait for Sam to wake. 

“Tell me what happened,” Dean mutters, nuzzling his face into the trench coat as Cas’ arm hugs him closer. 

“The seals have stopped being broken. Lucifer is still in his cage.” Cas says quietly. His hand runs up and down Dean’s arm lazily. “I found Sam with his demon, Ruby. They were intima-”

“I don’t want those details, Cas,” Dean says, scrunching up his face and closing his eyes. 

“Sorry.” He clears his throat and opens his mouth to continue when Dean picks up his hand and starts lacing their fingers together slowly. 

“How did you stop the seals or whatever?” 

“I don’t know if I stopped it completely. My mission was to save Sam.” Dean’s heart jumps at the words, but he stays silent. “I found Sam with Ruby and I killed her and the angel, Anna. I don’t enjoy killing my sisters and brothers, but what they want is not God’s will. What they want is the end of humanity. Sam put up a fight. I put him to sleep and brought him back to you.” 

“Thank you, Cas.” 

“Dean.” Cas sighs and squeezes Dean’s hand gently. “There’s a strong possibility that detoxing will either kill him or drive him insane. I can try to heal him as he does, but I don’t know if he’ll ever be back to normal.”

“We have to try.” 

Cas nods, nuzzling his cheek against the top of Dean’s head and they both fall into a comfortable silence. If they weren’t waiting for Sam to wake, it could have been the picture of a perfect date. 

Sam stirs, his arms pulling at their restraints before he lets out a yell. Dean gets up, extricating himself from Cas’ side. Each step toward the bed is the hardest step to take. Dean looks down into the face of his brother and Sam goes still. 

“Dean?” 

“Heya, Sammy.” Dean gives a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s too nervous about the future his brother faces. 

“You’re alive,” Sam breathes, relief flooding him for a moment. Dean nods. 

“I’m fine. You’re going to be okay, too. Cas…” Dean looks over his shoulder at the angel standing in the corner. Cas nods to give him encouragement and Dean looks back to Sam. “Cas brought you here to keep you safe.” 

“Dean, you can’t do this to me.” Sam pulls against the restraints. 

“Demon blood, Sam?” Dean sighs and shakes his head, stepping away from his brother. “You gotta know that’s wrong.” Dean opens the door to the stairwell as Sam yells. “Come on, Cas.” 

“Dean! You can’t keep me down here!” Sam yells as Dean and Cas walk through the door. Cas locks it and Sam’s cries are muffled, but still able to be heard. Dean leans his head against the door for a moment. 

“Tell me he’ll be okay,” Dean whispers.

“You know I can’t.”

Cas pulls Dean away from the door, folding him into his arms and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. Cas lets go of Dean and his hand his before continuing up the stairs, pulling Den gently behind him. 

“I can’t do this by myself,” Dean says as Cas locks the second door. 

“You are not alone,” Cas answers, and Dean feels safe. 


	8. Chapter 8

Dean sits behind his counter after finishing on the last car. He wipes his oil-covered hands on a rag thats stuck in his pocket. He looks up at the clock and smiles as the bell over the door rings. 

“You’re late,” Dean says with a grin. 

“Sorry, the pie I made needed five more minutes.” Cas sets down two slushies and a homemade apple pie. Dean leans across the counter for a kiss from Cas. He’s rewarded with his angel’s soft lips pressed to his. 

“How’s your day been?” Dean asks as he sits back and takes a sip from his slushie. 

Over the past six months, much has changed at Dean’s once-quiet house of a dying man. It’s changed into the perfect home for him and his angel, with his demonic and mad brother kept below earshot. Dean kept his job at the shop, but worked less often. Cas quit his job at the Gas-n-Sip in favor of staying home with Sam and answering phone calls for hunters. On the weekends, Sam would be restrained for a few hours while Cas and Dean returned to the church that housed Cas upon his arrival to Earth. 

Dean and Cas’ relationship changed from undefined to boyfriends, living together and sharing the bed, cuddled up every night. They talked about returning to hunting, but getting out was every hunter’s dream and there was no normal for Sam.

Sam lived with hellish delusions and constant fatigue. His company was his Dean and Dean’s boyfriend. He spent lucid moments chatting with them, delusional moments screaming and fighting them. More than a few times, a lucid Sam would whisper his thanks to his brother. 

“Trying. This pie did not want to cooperate. Sam was doing well this morning, though,” Cas says with an easy smile. His dark hair shines under the sunlight and shows that it’s really a dark brown instead of the black that it usually looks to be. Cas sighs wistfully and leans forward in his seat, his arms resting on his knees. “You’re beautiful.”

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean blushes. “Not too bad, yourself.” 

“I got us a movie for tonight.”

“What movie?” Dean asks, raising an eyebrow. Cas only presses his lips together and shakes his head, refusing to spoil the secret. “Really?”

“You’ll find out tonight,” Cas promises. 

After lunch, Cas gets up from his seat and walks around the counter to kiss him properly. Dean wraps his arms around Cas and presses kisses all over his face, skipping his lips to save them for last. He watches Cas’ smile emerge under the rapid fire of kisses and pulls away to treasure it. The blue eyes gleam with happiness as he looks up at Dean. 

“I love you,” Dean says, running the tip of his nose over Cas’ nose. 

“I love you, too,” Cas answers before tilting his face enough to capture Dean’s lips. 

 

“I’m home!” Dean calls as he walks in from the garage. 

“Go take your shower. I’m finishing making dinner,” Cas calls from the kitchen. 

Dean grins despite knowing that Cas can’t see him. He walks to his room before shedding his work clothes and stepping into the shower. Dean starts scrubbing soap into his hands when the bathroom door opens. 

“I thought you were working on dinner?” Dean asks, watching through the glass door as Cas pulls off his clothes. 

“It has thirty minutes in the oven,” Cas says as he steps into the shower behind Dean and kisses him before grabbing more soap to scrub into Dean’s back. 

“I wonder what we could do in thirty minutes,” Dean says, a mischievous smile sneaking onto his lips. 

 

Thirty minutes later, the timer on the oven goes off and Dean groans as Cas starts to sit up out of his arms. Dean watches as Cas leaves the room, still completely naked, and makes his way to the kitchen to take the lasagna out of the oven. He comes back with two beers and climbs back into the bed. 

“When’s this movie happening?” Dean asks after swallowing a sip of beer.  

“Now. I’ll put it on and bring you dinner. Stay.” Cas takes a sip from Dean’s beer before leaving the room again to grab Dean dinner and a movie. He returns with the first Superman movie; the one that they watched at the drive in on their first non-date. 

“Come here, Superman,” Dean says, pulling Cas into his arms and kissing everywhere he can. “Thank you.”

“What for?” Cas asks, looking up at Dean with those impossibly blue eyes that still manage to melt Dean. 

“For everything. For saving me. For saving him. For loving me.” Dean kisses him between each point to punctuate it. His lips linger on the last one, his hand coming up to cup Cas’ jaw. “For letting me love you.” 

“Dean.”

“Cas.” 

 


End file.
